


Ice Cream Sunday

by SheyRicci



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheyRicci/pseuds/SheyRicci
Summary: Rissa's Family Fun day drive for ice cream sundaes suddenly isn't so boring anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I will admit right here and now, I was too lazy to go back and read up on whether or not Cas was alive or around when Kevin was with Garth or what powers he had or lacked back then. So, go with the flow people…..go with the flow.

* * *

Rissa sighed again. Then again. And again. She rolled her eyes and huffed and puffed, but nope neither of her parents paid her any attention. She was so over this! Really, a 'family fun' day? She was 15! She had friends. She had a life. She had better things to do than go out for ice cream – _in October!_ – on a Sunday drive to see the fall foliage with her family.

She twitched and shifted in the seat, fingers aching for her cell phone. Really? No phones, no tablets, no MP3 player, no electronics this day. Oh no. They were spending the day as a family and whether she liked it or not, she was there. Well, she didn't like and she wasn't going to act like she did.

She could be at the pool party. The pool party with the heated pool where she could wear her new string bikini. The pretty blue one her mother had allowed her to buy because she thought Rissa wouldn't have anywhere to wear it until next summer. By then she would be 16 and apparently that 'one whole numbers of years' on the planet made a difference when it was acceptable for a teenager to wear a 'string bikini'. Whatever.

What was she supposed to do, sitting in the back seat of the family minivan – a _minivan_ for Cripes Sake! – with her dopey 13 year-old brother and whiney 6 year-old sister? Really, why had her parents even had the little squirt? The little pain-in-the-ass was always in her room, constantly asking questions, forever touching her things, taking her stuff, following her around, sitting on the floor in front of her while she was on the phone, always wanting her attention, wanting Rissa to play with her. Oh, she never hurt or broke or lost anything, she was just _always_ around. The twerp never bothered their brother, nope, just Rissa.

She sighed. And squirmed. Glared at the back of her parents' heads. And sighed.

She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be with her friends, swimming. Usually, her parents excused her from family outings because they didn't want to put up with her attitude, but not today. No, today Gramma was with them, sharing the middle seat with Rissa, the youngest two in the backseat. Rissa loved her Gramma, really, she did, but couldn't they spend time together, you know, when she got back from the pool party?

Gramma was nattering on about apple cider and seasonal grapes, the pretty trees and corn mazes and all the colorful mums and pretty gourds. Geesch. Just what was a gourd anyway? She'd Google it, if she had her phone. But she didn't, so she couldn't and no way was she going to admit she didn't know what something was, so she stretched her lips over her in teeth in what passed for a smile and nodded.

Ice cream? Huh, Mom, hello? Duh! A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!

This outing or drive, whatever her parents called it, was lame. And boring. And pathetic. She couldn't wait until she turned 18 and graduated high school and moved away to college. Just wait, see if she didn't select a college on the other side of the country, where there would be no reason for her to have to go home weekends. And she would get an on-campus job to earn enough money she'd be able to go on vacation over the holidays instead of joining the family at home.

"Almost there Clarissa." Mom said cheerfully, turning from the front passenger seat to look over her shoulder. "They might have frozen yogurt if you prefer, though the website didn't list it." she paused. "Though, to be honest, I really didn't look for it."

Yup, leave it to good ole Mom to read Pinterest or some other silly on-line things to do site. She had to go and find this backwoods, out-of-the-way, local dairy who raised cows and made their own ice cream, then turned around and sold it in their 'authentic reproduction of a 50's ice cream parlor'. Whatever that meant. How many country roads were there in the state anyway? All curvy with guide rails and hairpin turns - yuck. Heck, there was another yellow warning sign about some curve ahead every time she bothered to look out the window.

"Look at the lovely fall foliage." Gramma was saying. "Red maple, that's an oak….and a popular I think. They're mostly yellow. Oh, look Munchkin, there's a deer."

"Or maybe hot fudge Claire." Dad piped up, he didn't turn his head to look at her. He was driving. "It's homemade. They have caramel sauce too. You can have both."

"Pie!" the kids from the back seat shouted, then broke into song. "Apple, peaches, pumpkin pie, who's not ready, holler I!"

Rissa cringed, but not over the mention of excess calories and sugar. No, it was over the name Claire. What did her parents not get? Yes, her given name at birth was Clarissa but she had told them repeatedly it had too many syllables and that she preferred to be called Rissa – never mind Rissa was only one syllable shorter. So why then, did her father insist on calling her Claire? Yes, it was short for Clarissa, but Rissa was more exotic. Sultry. Seductive. Claire was….was….well, it was an old lady's name. Her dork of a brother laughed at her and said no one shorted their name by using the last of it. And that just was not true!

She knew an Andrew who went by Drew, a Patrick who went by Rick and a Jonathon who went by Athon. Duh, dumbo went to the same school she did, there was no middle school in the rinky-dink town they lived in. Just elementary with grades 1 thru 6 and the Jr/Sr High School, grades 7 thru 12. He had to know the kids on the football team had started the trend.

The ride continued. Everyone laughed and talked and chatted, but not Rissa. No, she sat and sulked and stared out the window, wishing she were anywhere else, doing anything else. Would this drive, this outing, this family fun day, ever end?

***000***

Dad ordered vanilla sundaes with both hot fudge and caramel sauce, topped with nuts, whipped cream and maraschino cherries for everyone. Large. With fountain sodas. Everything allegedly homemade or homegrown or home assembled. Whatever. Rissa made do with her fat-free, sugar-free, taste-free plain vanilla yogurt.

Could this day get any worse?

Apparently it could, for everyone was sooooooo freaking friendly! And the comments! Oh, what a beautiful family! You are so lucky! What well-behaved children? How do you like the ice cream? Yadda, yadda, yadda. Picture perfect. Make a jigsaw for hours of family fun! All the customers were sitting and eating or oohing and aahing over the decorative barn and yard and patio and small shop of novelties and knickknacks.

No, she didn't want a magnet or spoon or a pen or a key chain. Or anything else. Neither apples nor applesauce, not cider nor maple syrup. Oh, so that was a gourd. Wow, whoopee. No, she did not want to walk through the corn maze or take a wagon ride sitting on a bale of itchy hay. Hell no, she did not want to ride a smelly, hairy horse. She not want to feed, or pet, or see a goat. No thank you, she didn't find soft, furry rabbits cute. Oh God, get me out of here. Make this day end.

Everywhere she looked were happy kids…..kids…..kids her sisters' age. None her age. No boys to look at. No girls to show off in front of. Nothing to do. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a thing.

And then. Then the door opened. And three men entered. And boy, were they ever out of place. Talk about Seasame Street and picking 'which of these things is not like the others'. And oh yeah, oh yeah, she sure as hell could pick out what didn't belong.

She tried not to stare, she didn't want to stare, but yet…she couldn't help _but_ stare. Everyone else in the room looked up and quickly averted their eyes or turned their backs completely. No one smiled. Even her sister scooted her chair closer to their dad's. But not Rissa. Nope, she was a 15 year-old teenager. Come on world, throw it at me!

Really kid, they weren't all _that_ scary. Sure, one was big, one was young and cute, and the other one was super skinny. She didn't want extra pounds, but she never wanted to be that skinny either. Anyway, these men were rough and well….the oldest was big and large – _looming_ – he dominated the entire room and he was the only who did so. The youngest of the trio had an air of youth, maybe innocence, about him the other two lacked. The third dude was scrawny, but still, none of them appeared threatening. Well, maybe the _one_ did, but the presence of the other two and his apparent tolerance of them gave everyone the impression they meant no one any harm.

Dressed in denim and flannel, big boots on their feet, they were scruffy and unkempt, but they weren't dirty. Okay, maybe they were but it wasn't dirt from days of not washing clothes or taking a shower. It looked more like they had, well, she didn't know exactly. They were dusty and leafs and twigs clung to bits of their clothes here and there and between them, they sported grass and mud stains, and that might well be soot, but they could easily tidy up in the restroom.

So, with nothing else to do, bored beyond belief, annoyed she was where she was, unwilling to join her family in the fun afternoon, Rissa mentally assigned names she created to the trio – Scary, Cutie and Skinny – and made up stories in her mind to entertain herself. It sure would make the never-ending day go faster.

The three men entered the 'parlor' and two of them hung by the door for several seconds, 'casing the joint'. Scary made straight for the nearest table. It was occupied but soon vacated. Aah, he was limping. And he was stiff and awkward and held himself still…..and by look on his face…in pain. Oh! He was hurt!

The two men with him had completely different reactions to this too.

Cutie was impatient and dismissive. He stalked ahead of Scary and reached the table first, pulling out a chair and waving Scary to take a seat. He motioned and stomped his foot, scowling when he wasn't immediately obeyed. Huh, Scary had cleared the table of its previous occupants with just a scowl and _now_ he didn't want to sit down? Men!

Skinny was right behind Scary now. He patted and petted his shoulder, aka, hurt-man-with-the-limp, but he shrugged and twitched away from the touch. Skinny talked earnestly but too quietly for anyone else to hear. A conversation between the two commenced. Or maybe it was an argument.

"I'm fine." Scary snapped irritably, voiced raised as he shrugged off the supporting hand that loosely held his elbow. He stepped away from the hand that hovered at the small of his back, waiting to guide him should his step falter. "Back off Garth." he growled a warning. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Shush!" Skinny admonished. "Language Dean. There are children around."

"You're limping." came the retort from Cutie who remained by the chair, every bit of irritation Dean felt reflected in his impatient tone. "You gotta shake it off Dean. We can't stay here. And why are we here?" he asked Skinny. "Not our kind of place."

"Get him something to eat." Skinny retorted easily. "Didn't see any other place around, did you?"

"Cudda kept driving." Cutie shot back. "Find a clinic. He probably needs a doctor Garth, not Betty Crocker."

"I'm fine!" growled Scary, who stomped, limped, and hobbled the short distance to the table and took a seat in the chair Cutie still held onto. He scowled and frowned, shaking his head repeatedly, waving a hand dismissively while Skinny spoke calmly, pleading with Scary for something. "Go. Away."

"Can't do that Dean." Skinny said patiently. "Now, let me look at you here." his hands moved to slide inside Scary's coat but they were instantly slapped away. Skinny tried again. Scary bared his teeth. "Dean, come on. Let me see if anything is broken or dislocated or is somewhere it shouldn't be. You know, like a bone sticking out or something." he tried a third time and Scary's head whipped around so fast in an attempt to bite him that Skinny didn't attempt a fourth time. "Well, okay then. Right. So."

Scary squirmed, stretched, tested movement of his arms and legs, shoulders and feet. Hissed and winced.

"Why are we here?" Cutie asked impatiently, removing everything on the table that Scary could potentially knock off. "I mean, why Garth? If not the hospital, we should be heading home. Get him back before Sam knows he's missing."

"Because we don't know how hurt he is." Skinny replied.

"And being _here_ fixes that how?"

"We need to know if he's hurt."

"And again, not some magical place here Garth. We can find that out anywhere. He said he's fine." Cutie snapped. "Or we could, you know, I'll say it for the 3rd time, take him to a hospital."

"No need." Scary panted, shifting his weight from one hip to the other in an attempt to ease some ache or pain or cramp. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." Skinny retorted. "He's not fine Kev."

"Sure he is." Cutie scowled. "He said so."

"We let him fall off a roof Kevin."

"Let him? No one _lets_ him do anything. He does whatever the hell he wants."

"He didn't _want_ to fall off a roof."

"He got up and walked away, didn't he?" Cutie scoffed.

"We picked him up and carried him away."

"He's walking good enough now."

"You call that limping hop good enough?"

"Uh, yeah!"

"He might need a doctor." Skinny insisted. "We should make that determination. Not him."

"I don't." Scary stretched his right leg out under the table, hit the opposite chair and groaned. "Fuck."

"He doesn't." Cutie agreed, ignoring Scary's muffled moan of pain. "Still don't know why we're _here_." he looked around, caught everyone staring at them and smirked when everyone – everyone except Rissa – immediately shifted their gaze.

"Yes he does! Look at those lacerations!" Garth exclaimed.

"Abrasions." Kevin corrected.

"Those contusions!" Garth went on.

"Bruises." Kevin corrected.

"Those deep scrapes!" Garth continued undeterred. "He's bleeding."

"Mere scratches." Kevin corrected. "Stop being so over dramatic. He's not bleeding, he oozed some blood, that's all." he reached over Dean's shoulder to still his hand from scratching at the exposed skin between jacket sleeve and hand. "Hey, stop that. What are you doing? Stop itching that."

"There! See! You see that!" Garth pounced. "Road rash!"

"It's called an itch Garth. You never had one?"

Skinny puffed up, lips pursed, hands on hips, then turned his back on Cutie and squatted next to Scary. "How about a nice, cold, creamy milkshake?"

"What the _ **HELL**_ Garth!?"

"Vanilla?" Skinny asked Scary, ignoring Cutie. "Or strawberry maybe?"

"Garth! Seriously, what the hell?"

Skinny stood up, laying a hand on Scary's shoulder who immediately shrugged it off, twisting in the chair to avoid additional touch and nearly unseating himself.

"I want him to let me see if he's hurt." Skinny patiently explained. "I can do that if I can distract him with food."

"Then shut up about what flavor he wants and call Sam." Skinny and Cutie stood on either side of the chair, both ready to catch their seated companion should he fall sideways and hit the floor or face plant. "Sam should know about this. We can leave Dean here. He'll come get him. You know he will. Let him decide if _he,_ " he pointed to Scary, "should go to the ER." Cutie stared Skinny down and waited.

Skinny's hands flew to his face and each palm clutched a cheek. "Sam….Sa…Sa…Sa…SAM?" he stuttered. "ME? _I'm_ not calling Sam. _You_ call Sam." he babbled in horror. "Why do we have to call Sam?"

"Because you let his brother fall off a roof and you don't know how badly he's hurt." Cutie threw his hands up. "Someone has to tell Sam Dean might not be okay."

"Then **_you_** call Sam!" Skinny repeated.

"Oh hell no." Cutie shook his head frantically. "You're older, you call him."

"I'm not calling him! Last time we talked he tied me up in the curtains, plucked hair from my head and threatened to make a voodoo doll of me!"

"Well, I'm _not_ calling him." Cutie protested. "No way. Huh-uh. Last time I babysat Dean, I had to take him to the emergency room. Sam didn't speak to me for a week."

"Last time I babysat, I left him alone." Skinny countered. "And lost him. And Sam _still_ doesn't speak to me."

"I got us lost in the wrong state and forgot to call Sam."

"I let him fall down a flight of steps." Skinny rubbed his hands together, as if to say: game on, beat that!

"I got him stranded in a tornado."

"I got him cursed."

"I left him unprotected and vulnerable to attack."

"I had to improvise a cure."

"I let him fall into a nest of killer bees." Cutie's eyes narrowed.

"I had to set his shoulder."

"Sam yelled at me."

"Sam threatened me." Skinny scoffed.

"I let him fall out of bed and he hit his head and Sam had to glue him together."

"Sam had to give Dean a bath."

"Sam threatened to drown me in a mud puddle."

"Sam said he was gonna nail my toes to the roof and dangle me."

"Sam thought something had taken him because I didn't take him straight home."

"Dean drove away on my watch hopped up on pain meds."

"I didn't get his prescriptions filled."

"He got cursed by a talisman."

"He hung off a bridge in a flood."

"I buried their car in mud."

Cutie conceded. He put his hands up in surrender then pressed his palms together and gave Skinny a slight bow. They were silent. Scary sat with his elbows on the table, one palm against his forehead supporting his head, the other hand held in front of him as if he didn't know what to do with it.

"So, uh, how do we tell Sam he fell off a roof?" Skinny finally asked.

"You have his number." Cutie pointed out. "Text him and we run."

"He doesn't like me." Skinny said quickly. "Last time we worked on a case together, he…he….uh…well, he wasn't nice."

"No need." Scary panted. "He knows." he sat up, stretched his back, groaned and attempted to extend his right elbow. "OW!"

Skinny frowned. "What does that mean?" he demanded. "Kevin, what does he mean?"

Cutie stared at Scary, lip curled in disgust. "He means Sam will be here soon." he nudged Scary in the shoulder. "Don't you?"

"What? How could he know that?" Skinny demanded, taking one step backwards, then another. As if distance between him and Scary would somehow change the meaning of Scary's words. "I just wanted to call him and let him know! Not see him!"

"They just do." Cutie threw his hands up. "Know things." he added. "We should probably go." he frowned, watching Scary's repeated failures to bend his right wrist the way he wanted it to bend. "You hurt your hand?"

Rissa rolled her eyes. Uh, yeah Cutie Pie. He probably _broke_ his hand! Duh! _He fell off a roof!_

"Go? Go where?" Skinny exclaimed. "He barely walked…I…..we can't carry….." he paused and realization dawned. "You mean…..? You mean _leave_ him here? Alone? By _himself_?"

"Do you have a death wish?"

"Do you?" Skinny shot back. "Do you have any idea what Sam will do to us if he gets here and finds Dean _alone_!?"

"He can't kill me Garth."

"No, but he sure as hell can hurt you and hey, yeah, he _can_ kill me!"

"Man, you sure are wishy-washy." Cutie complained. "All brave and tough and in control one minute and all scared and pansy-assed the next. Make up your mind!"

"Sam scares the hell outta me Kevin."

"Then let's leave."

By now, the others in the parlor had lost interest in the three men but not Rissa. Oh no. They were the only thing about this day that made it tolerable. So okay, the man in the chair she mentally referred to as Scary was Dean, Cutie was named Kevin, Skinny was called Garth, and both were scared of Sam. Now, huh. What was that all about? And how did a man fall off a roof and walk into an ice cream parlor? Walk anywhere? He should be dead. Or broken. Maybe it hadn't been a very high roof. But still, the word 'fall' indicated distance, so…..

How long had it been since they arrived? 10 minutes? 30?

The two men standing continued to argue. Scary remained sitting with this elbows on the table, back to holding his forehead against his left palm, paying no attention to his friends or anyone else in the room. His right hand remained stiff and his arm upright as though by doing so, pain was relieved. Like he had a sprain or some other injury eased by continued elevation. And neither Skinny nor Cutie noticed.

Would they stay or would they go?

This time when the bell jangled, no one entered through the door sedately. Nope, no one entered the parlor and stood by the door while looking for a table to sit at. No child giggled, no one ooh'd and aah'd, no gramma gently scolded a youngster to behave. Nope, no, oh no. Oh _hell no._ This time, the bell jangled because the door flew open with such force, every. single. person – even the baby in the highchair – in. the. room stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the door. The room and its occupants froze. Time stopped. Nothing and no one moved. Rissa swore even the ceiling fans ceased to spin. Not that they were needed this time of year anyway, so why were they even on? And hey, did the fountain soda _really_ stop flowing?

If anyone were ever asked, no one could quite recall how the door, which opened _in_ , swung _out_ and bounced off the outer wall before slamming closed behind the two men who came through it – which was impossible, because doors on spring, self-closing hinges _could not_ be slammed.

The very air, the atmosphere within the parlor was…was….was _charged_. It cackled and sparked. It snapped, crackled and popped and the two newcomers strode determinedly across the room without looking or speaking or stopping.

Oh no.

They. Did. Not. Stop.

They didn't pause or look or hesitate. They swept in and marched side-by-side directly over to the table where the two men still stood guard over their seated friend, split in unison, one to each side and….in one smooth move, hooked an arm each under the armpit of the seated man, lifted him without effort backwards out of his chair.

"YOW!" Scary howled in pain, but his yelp did not deter the mission of the newcomers, who might well have accomplished their, well, mission, had Scary not put up a fight. At first touch, Scary hadn't really reacted, but once they lifted him from his chair, he squawked, grabbing for the table with both hands in a useless effort to remain seated at the table. Obviously a mistake, because he howled again, let go, and hugged his right hand to his chest. Now off balance, his feet then tangled with the chair and it overturned. The table wobbled, but since it was empty, Cutie having earlier removed everything on it, nothing fell over or smashed to the floor and the table remained upright.

So, okay! Time to name these two, new, large, imposing men.

"Hey!" Skinny yelped. "Take it easy! He…." he gulped when Hair swung his head around to pin Skinny with a glare of death. "We…we were….well, you know, huh…hunting and…and….and…..he, huh…..hey Sam. Uh, hi." his hands were up and he back-stepped. "Okay, ok big guy." he swallowed, offering a huge grin. "Take it easy. Okay? He's fine. You see? Tell your brother how fine you are Dean."

"I find out you had anything to do with what happened to him _this_ time," Hair jabbed a finger in Skinny's face. "I will relocate you to Oymyakon."

"Sam." Scary warned, tone lace with promised violence. "Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me."

Hair and Coat took heed and stopped their attempts to carry Scary away, but neither released nor loosened their hold.

"You either walk into that bathroom on your own or we will carry you in." Hair said. "In your condition, you won't stop us."

"What condition?" affronted, Scary yanked one arm loose. His right was held by Hair and he either didn't have the strength in that arm or the desire to break the hold. "I don't have to…I don't need the bathroom." Scary bit his lip, pale face breaking out in a fine sheen of sweat. "Just…let me be…..I'm fine." but he bit back a groan and with bottom lip quivering, turned grey. Yeah, that reaction wasn't going to convince anyone he was 'fine'. "Ow." he whimpered.

Now, Rissa thought, how did a grown man make such a whimper of pain sound so...so...so...manly?

"Ow, what?" Hair demanded. "Your hand? That the worst? Let me see!"

They were still clustered around Scary's overturned chair, when the bathroom door – clear across the room, mind you – flew open. And remained opened. Good thing the room was unoccupied! It was a country-decorated bathroom, and inside was a wood vanity long and big enough to hold both the weight and size of Scary who vehemently protested being carried in as though he knew they intended to deposit him on it.

And they did.

They carried – dragged – him with ease, Hair muttering about Coat just using his finger and putting Scary to sleep. And Scary growling if they did so, they should remember he would eventually awaken. Yeah, whatever sense _that_ meant. Rissa shifted in her chair, then just blatantly got up and moved it so she could clearly see into the bathroom, where Hair and Coat lifted and deposited their burden on his butt, facing them, on top of the vanity and forced him to lie down. Coat held Scary down and Hair began to run his hands up and down over Scary's arms, shoulders, chest, torso, stomach…..much like Skinny had attempted to do. The difference was Scary made no attempt to bite and allowed the touchy-feely hand examine of Hair.

The door swung shut behind the trio, but didn't latch and remained slightly ajar. Voices from within the small bathroom could be heard, but not all words were distinguishable: heal, cuts, scrapes, bruises, fall, bite, hospital, home, kill.

"Say, uh, Kev?" Skinny stammered nervously. "What is Oymyakon?"

Other than the occasional booted, then-not-booted, foot swinging into view, Rissa lost interest and turned her attention to Skinny and Cutie, who despite their earlier vow to leave, remained.

"One of the coldest inhabited towns on earth."

Skinny yelped. "I don't want to go there!" he protested. "I don't like the cold!"

Cutie snorted. "Like he'll give you a choice? That's Castiel. He'll just blink you there and I don't see how you'll ever get back."

"Uh…Kev? I'll just drive out." Skinny paused as if the thought should have instantly occurred to Cutie. "No biggee." he informed him happily.

"It's a remote Russian town with a population of maybe 500 Garth, and over half of them don't drive." Cutie gleefully deflated Skinny's balloon of happiness. "And a 3 day drive to the next town, but yeah, probably in the two weeks of summer, you have enough money, you might be able to hire someone to drive you out."

"I'll rent a car." Skinny beamed.

"From where?"

"Oh." his face fell. "I don't want to go there!" he repeated anxiously. "You really think he'll have Cas send me there? Maybe we should….uh…..go." he nodded. "Yeah, like now."

"You take one step towards that door…" shouted, who Rissa guessed was, Hair. "I will banish you to an iceberg and if you're lucky, you _might_ find an igloo to live in."

Skinny gaped and side-stepped. "That sounds worse than Oymymymyaa." Skinny babbled.

"Probably is." Cutie agreed, but both his tone and attitude proved he didn't much care what might happen to Skinny.

Rissa swung her head back to the bathroom door. After a bit of banging and thudding the door had swung back open and for a small bathroom, crowded with three large men, there was an awful lot of activity going on. Hands waved, elbows banged, heads bobbed, feet kicked. Rissa had been in that bathroom. While a decent size, it was in no way large enough for three big men. She heard the occasional reprimand, a curse, a soothing word. But yeah, she couldn't make out what all was going on. No one in the parlor could, but she seemed to be the only person interested.

Oh! Ooooh look! The door was wide open!

"Dean, you fell off a _fucking_ roof. Lay down and stay still, or so help me, I will embarrass you in front of everyone out there in that room!" Hair hissed. "Let Cas look at you."

"Oh yeah?" on his back but up on his elbows, Scary sneered, then demanded smugly. "How?"

Hair's hands went to his hips and he made monkey lips. Apparently that face meant something to Scary, for he held his half-reclined pose for another couple of seconds, then broke eye contact and went down on his back.

The last glimpse Rissa saw was Coat pushing Scary's shirt up and exposing his belly. Ohohohohohohoh!

"Fuckit Dean…..have you seen that bruise?" Hair exclaimed. "Cas!" the door swung open wider. "…...internal bleeding? I will rip that scrawny-assed skinny-minny apart!"

The door was bumped and her vision was once again obscured. Damn!

She swung her head back to Cutie and Skinny, who gulped upon hearing the threats issued against his person but didn't flee. They both stood at the table and argued over whether or not they should leave, paying no mind to the antics currently going on in the bathroom. Finally, the tallest of the three emerged from the bathroom and firmly closed the door behind him. He walked over to the table and smacked Skinny upside the back of his head.

"HEY!" Garth protested. "OW! What was THAT for?"

"Not watching him." Sam retorted. "I need some money." he held his hand out, palm up and waggled his fingers.

"What? NO!" Garth rubbed his twice-abused ear. Damn, Sam was quick. "What for?!" too busy rubbing his ear and holding the back of his smacked head, he didn't notice Sam reach into his jacket pocket and remove his wallet. "HEY!" he made a fruitless grab for it. "Give that BACK!"

"Kevin." Sam opened the purloined wallet and tossed a twenty dollar bill onto the table. "Go order the largest milkshake they have." he tossed the wallet back to its owner who moved quick to catch it. "Nothing fancy."

"What? Why me? You go get it." Kevin tried to hand the money back.

"Fine, you go in the bathroom and help Cas." he waited.

Cutie frowned, suddenly nervous. "Aah….help him do what? No, you know what? Never mind." he shook his head. "Make Garth get it. He's the one who let Dean fall off the roofffff….." he trailed off and hastily stepped out of striking distance. The look on Hair's face made everyone in the room shrink back. Death glare anyone? "Yeah, chocolate you said? Right, right, no, nothing fancy got it."

Hair turned to Skinny. "I'm going out to the car. When Cas brings him out, _you_ _make sure_ he has whatever he wants."

Skinny started to speak, then thought better of it, closed his mouth and nodded.

"And get him one of those toy straws." Hair told Cutie as he walked out the door, holding it open first for a family to enter the parlor. "He likes blue."

Get who what, Rissa thought. Wasn't Skinny already paying for a milkshake? And how long was Hair going to be gone getting something from their car anyway?

Hair left.  
Cutie was in line – because activity had resumed when new customers entered – to buy a no-fancy milkshake with a kid straw.  
Coat and Scary had not yet emerged from the bathroom.  
And Skinny simply stood like an idiot next to an overturned chair.

"Rissa dear, stop gawking and eat your sundae." her mother chided gently. "It's not polite to stare."

Really? _Really_ Mom? Like, are you for real? How can you not gawk? Do you see them? Have you _ever_ seen men like them in your life? I haven't, but you're old, so have you?

Rissa ignored her mother and made a mental bet on who would move or be seen first: Cutie getting waited on, Skinny finally picking up the chair, Coat and Scary emerging from the bathroom or Hair returning with whatever he had left to retrieve.

And the winner of the chicken dinner…ding-ding-ding…was….tah-dah! - Coat and Scary emerging from the bathroom.

Scary came first, walking on his own in his socks and black t-shirt, right elbow held against his side, with his arm up in the air, his hand curled into a loose fist. Oh yeah, Rissa nodded, he'd hurt that arm somehow. Coat followed close behind him, carrying Scary's boots, jacket and flannel shirt.

Skinny was still standing – stupidly – next to the table and overturned chair that, with a condescending look, Coat picked up and set to rights in front of the table that, while coveted by newcomers, had not been appropriated by anyone else, and gestured Scary to take a seat.

"What's wrong with his arm?" Cutie asked returning with a large, white Styrofoam cup with a blue bendy straw that he set on the table in front of Scary. "Can't you fix it?"

Coat shook his head, speaking in tones too low for Rissa make out actual words.

Scary was seated and reached for the cup with his good hand. He took a tentative sip, rolled his eyes at Cutie and gave a slight nod. He seemed quite content to sit, ignore everyone and everything and enjoy his milkshake. Coat and Cutie engaged in quite the conversation. Skinny attempted once to voice his opinion, but a palm – Coat's – in his face shut him up and he didn't try again.

"I'm fine." Scary finally insisted, removing the straw from his teeth and licking creamy chocolate from his lips. "Cas…tell everyone I'm fine." he ordered tiredly, voice strained. His tongue sought out the straw, reclaimed it and resumed consumption.

Rissa couldn't remove her eyes from Scary's throat. Even the mere act of swallowing appeared to cause him pain. Was the ice cream too cold? Did it hurt his teeth? Did his jaw ache? Was his throat sore? Had he injured his chest somehow?

"They don't need convincing Dean." Coat replied patiently. "Sam does."

And on cue, Hair was back, the door swinging shut, normally this time, behind him. He carried a green cloth bag that he plunked onto the table. It clanked with a thud. What the hell did he have in there? Without a word to the occupants at another table, he stole a spare chair and sat down next to Scary.

"Gimme your hand." Hair said, digging into the bag and withdrawing an ace bandage. Scary did not obey. Hair reached, Scary pulled away. Hair grabbed, Scary ducked. Hair swiped with his hand, Scary tucked his arm to his side. "Give. Me. Your. Hand. Or. I. Will. Take. Away. The. Shake." he waited and Scary caved but it wasn't over the threat of the loss of his treat. It was because not elevating his hand made the pain worse and that was evident by his white face and quivering jaw. "Hurts that much? Cas said nothing was broken. He can't heal but he can tell me what's wrong….you sure you're not playing me?" he studied Scary then shook his head. "No, you're not. I know."

Scary was silent, sipping from his child-marketed straw. He winced or shifted his weight in the chair, but he let Hair hold his hand and move and squeeze and bend his fingers and thumb and wrist until he was apparently satisfied with what he did or did not find. He didn't verbally protest or resist when Hair began to wrap his hand in the ace bandage. All four fingers were held together and he wound and wove the wrap between Scary's pointing finger and thumb, around the back on his hand, across his palm and down his wrist before reversing direction and doing it again until the bandage finally ran out.

"How's that feel? Too tight? Can you wiggle your fingers? Okay…we'll give it a few minutes and see if they turn purple. I'll loosen it a bit if they do." Hair clipped the bandage with a clasp. "Got an instant ice pack, you want it let me know."

Scary nodded, releasing the straw and taking a few deep breaths. Rissa kicked her brother under the table and made him change seats with her. Now seated on the other side of the table, she was closer to Scary's table and could see his face better. Oh yeah, he was in some serious pain alright. Then again, he _had_ fallen off a roof, so of course he was miserable and uncomfortable.

"You hungry?" Hair was asking. "Take some pain pills you eat something."

Scary showed him the Styrofoam cup but Hair smiled and shook his head. Scary was crestfallen, looking down dejectedly at the table over Hair's refusal to accept a milkshake as an approved meal for the consumption of pain meds.

"They have hot dogs?" Cutie offered, Hair shook his head. "Toasted cheese sandwiches. Cheddar on sourdough?"

Hair nudged Scary who sighed and nodded so Cutie went back to stand in line.

"He's okay Sam." Skinny was saying earnestly, hands waving. "We looked him over and he was conscious and insisted he was okay. He got up and walked away on his own. Walked in here and…yeah, right. You don't care."

"I know." Sam replied, taking hold of Scary's hand to check the color of his fingertips. Apparently he was satisfied because he gave the bandaged hand a pat and let Scary hold it however he wanted to. Which was, elbow on table, hand in the air. "And I care."

"How….how could you know that?" Skinny was bewildered. "There's no way you….see Sam….."

"See Garth, here's the thing. He's not 'okay'. He fell off a fucking roof." he glared and Skinny ducked his head. "I know he didn't break anything because I checked every inch of him in that bathroom." he pointed at the closed door. "And Cas told me there's no internal damage."

"But….but….see, none of this is my fault Sam. Do you even know your brother?"

Oh-oh Skinny, wrong thing to say. Oh so the wrong thing to say. Why would you say something so sure to inflame an already hot headed head of hair? Rissa labeled Skinny a dumb dummy.

"I know him." Hair stalked forward, Skinny stalked backwards. "I know him so well, I can guess whatever he was doing on that roof was the result of some action _you_ took that put either you or Kevin in the way of danger. Am I right?"

Skinny swallowed. "I brought him here. I remember how you bribed him the last time you wanted to see how badly he was hurt and wanted him to submit to your examination. I found him ice cream."

"He's bruised and battered but not broken so go say a damn prayer that's he not."

"Uh, say Sam, it's not my fault he fell. He doesn't listen to anyone but you and yeah, he outweighs me so even if I'd been close enough, I wouldn't have been able to hold his weight."

"Excuses Garth? Really?"

Perplexed over the hostility from Hair, Skinny raised his hands in a show of faith and asked. "Why do you always get so bent out of shape with me? Do you have any idea how expensive this place is? Huh? Do you? I could have just run him through MickieD's you know. That isn't even real ice cream."

"Because Garth….he's my brother and he's all I have. And every time he's with you, I nearly lose him. I never know how long I'm going to have him, so as long as I do, if a fucking milkshake makes him feel better, if only for a little while, he can have all the god damn ice cream he wants."

"You have me, Kevin, Cas. There's….oh."

"I don't …he's my brother Garth." Hair turned back to the table, was closer to it then he thought he was, bumped it with his thigh and sat down. "Let me see." he told Scary who obediently held his hand out and let Hair take hold of it. "Ready for some ice? Hum? It feel any better?"

Scary mumbled, his face pale and drawn, mouth tight. Hair was all sympathetic with soothing words and petting gestures. Scary shifted and squirmed but kept his seat, asking for something that Hair said he could have after he ate. Scary must have asked what he was supposed to eat because Hair raised his head, snapped his fingers and called for Cutie to hurry the fuck up with that damn sandwich.

"Stop it." Skinny said suddenly. "Geesch Sam, _what_ are you doing?"

"Stop what?" Hair shot back, attention back on checking the tightness of the bandage where it ended near his brother's elbow. Oh yes, by now Rissa knew Scary and Hair were brothers. "How does that feel? Not too tight? Can you feel this?" he pinched the skin gently. Scary nodded, drawing his arm away. "Okay. You sure you don't…?" he dug in the bag on the table and withdrew an instant cold pack that he kneaded and squeezed before applying to Scary's bandaged wrist.

"Causing a scene." Skinny interrupted with a hiss. "Everyone just stopped staring at us and now you're making us the center of attention again." he gestured limply with one hand, waving it to encompass the room. "People are staring!"

"Me?" Hair air-jabbed his thumb towards his chest. "Me? Cause a scene? _Me_?" he looked all around the room, eyes scanning, searching, seeing all. Rissa tingled when his sweeping gaze lingered on her, before passing her by when he deemed her no threat. "Who brought him _here_ Garth? You might as well have taken him to Chuckie Cheese."

Rissa blushed bright red. Oh God! Me! He means me! Oh dear. Floor, I command you to open up and swallow me. Now. Right now. Right this very minute!

"Burstin' in here. All brute strength and show of muscles. Yeah, you." Skinny puffed up, but when Hair, still seated, simply leaned forward, he stepped back. "Say, uh, Sam…..how did you know where he was?" Skinny asked hastily. "How did you know he was _here_? And how did you know to come?"

"Cas." Cutie answered. As if that one syllable word explained all. "Here's his sandwich, you want anything more, I need more money."

"Thanks." Hair said. "You two can go now. Leave before I lose my temper."

"What about Dean?" Skinny asked.

"I'm here now. I'll take care of him."

"Come on Garth, let's get going before he changes his mind and decides to grill us about what happened."

"About what you _let_ happen." Hair corrected. "And trust me, I will." he looked down at Scary and his features softened, mouth relaxing into a smile of fondness. "Just right now, I have more important things that require my attention."

"What about Cas?" Cutie asked. "Where'd he go anyway?"

"Don't worry about him."

"Okay, yeah, right….come on Garth…..Sam, I'll huh, right…..catch up with you later."

Rissa watched the mismatched pair say their good-byes to Scary who didn't even bother to raise his head to look at them. Just with a slight movement of his left wrist, managed to flick two fingers in their direction. Coat walked out with them and when he didn't immediately return, Rissa realized she had no idea whether or not he would.

"Rissa, you're gawking again." Gramma tapped the back of Rissa's hand. "It's not polite to stare." she reiterated.

"But Gramma, how can I not?" Rissa protested. "Do you see them? How can you not be interested?"

Gramma winked. "You can observe without being so blatant about it."

Apparently Scary was not impressed with his toasted cheese sandwich. He poked at it, flipped it over, held it up, stuck his tongue out to taste the cheese and set it back down. Hair laid a hand on Scary's shoulder and leaned in close to talk to him. Rissa couldn't make out what he was saying, but his tone must have been soothing and his words accepted by Scary, for Scary nodded and didn't shrug out from under the hand on his shoulder. No, Hair's touch he tolerated, accepted.

Rissa felt all warm and fuzzy.

No one else noticed. No one else paid any attention. No one saw it. Not even Gramma who was now discussing something from the news with her dad. But Rissa did. She saw Hair's big hand cup the crown of Scary's head and for the briefest second, rest his chin atop his head. She saw the way Scary let his eyes close and the way he relaxed, taking comfort from the gesture. She saw Hair's hand massage the nape of Scary's neck, his thumb circling, rubbing, pressing, squeezing. She watched Scary lean into the hold, then slump against Hair who did not push him away.

Scary was shoeless, his t-shirt torn. He was scruffy, dirty, disheveled, bruised, cut, scraped, spotty with dried blood, sitting miserably in pain, uncomfortable and willing to accept the comfort and support of his brother. A whole lot could be read into that, even by a 15 year-old, self-centered, selfish teenage girl: familiarity, comfort, trust, relief, love.

Coat returned and motioned to Hair who shook his head.

"Time to go?" Scary asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "You'll have to drive."

"When you're ready." Hair assured him. "Take your time. Wanna try the cheese? Want something else?"

So they sat.  
Scary reached for the cheese sandwich and nibbled.  
Hair ate the other half.  
And they sat.

"Can I get a sundae to go?" Scary swallowed the pills Hair handed him with the last of his milkshake.

"Sure."

Rissa watched the three men walk out of the parlor, Scary in the middle, Hair's hand splayed on the back of his shoulder. The vanilla sundae with hot fudge and hot caramel sauce topped with whipped cream, crushed nuts and cherries carried by Coat.

She looked over at her little sister, who, not an hour ago, was the biggest pain in her life. The brat beamed up at her, smiling sunnily as she swung her feet, chocolate fudge smeared all over her mouth. What would her life be like if she didn't have family? Annoying as her siblings were, she was glad she had them. Sitting up straight and squaring her shoulders, she plucked the cherry from atop her melted ice cream and plopped it in her sister's bowl.

"For me?"

"For you."

The child looked at her suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because you're my sister and you like cherries and it's Family Fun Day with Ice Cream Sundaes."

And someday, you might fall off a roof and not be as lucky at Scary.

***END***


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